


the bed of my bones

by depthsofgreen



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Asexual Oswald Cobblepot, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Praise Kink, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depthsofgreen/pseuds/depthsofgreen
Summary: Ed and Oswald have rules regarding the physical aspects of their relationship. They grow to realize, however, that these rules are by no means set in stone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ Nygmobblepot Week 2017](http://nygmobblepotweek.tumblr.com), Day Seven: Your Choice.

It’s a simple matter of negotiating boundaries: lips are fine (good, even), tongue acceptable (in moderation), hands _excellent_ so long as they’re around his waist, or at his back, or sometimes even on his chest or wrists (if Oswald’s got a little wine in him). The neck is out (Oswald has no intention of ending up like Ed’s past _flames_ ), and anything below the belly button to be met with immediate recoil and silent sulking for a few minutes at the _least_ (Oswald will make exceptions for leg massages, which Ed, no surprise, _excels_ at, skin smooth and movements rough, clever fingers knowing just where to pinch and prod and rub).

If Ed harbors any resentments over this delicate and ever-shifting map he’s permitted access to, he does nothing to convey it. He enjoys, Oswald suspects, the _structure_ of it, the rules and hard-drawn lines and the loopholes he manages to find (because yes, _fine_ , Oswald will also allow a palm at the curve of his hip, when the moment’s right, wriggling up into the touch as his breaths come hot).

“You’re like a puzzle,” Ed laughs into his mouth one day, after he’s made a reach for Oswald’s nipple through the cloth of his pajama top and been slapped away. “Only all the pieces shift around when I’m not looking.”

Oswald rolls his eyes, all mere show - he can’t suppress the tingling flare of rose-red glee he feels at the words and tender _fondness_ in Ed’s voice.

Bringing Ed’s lush lower lip between his own, he wraps his fingers around Ed’s forearm and pulls his hand back up, allowing it to settle at the lower pec muscle Ed grabbed for earlier.

“There you go, shifting on me again,” Ed smiles, fingerpads rubbing soft.

Even through the thick fabric, the friction makes Oswald shiver.

***

They sleep together, sometimes, in the most literal of senses, fully clothed and wrapped snugly around each other.

Oswald wakes one night, quite uncharacteristically, moonlight still streaming through a window. Through the lingering dream-fog of sleep, he registers weight atop him, _crushing_ (Ed may be slim, but he’s long and compactly muscled and far heavier than he looks, it appears).

Oswald shifts, wriggling beneath him to lessen the pressure on his chest and stomach, when he feels it: Ed, unmistakably erect, pressed against his thigh.

It’s no big deal, really, hardly as if Oswald himself is immune to such _risings_ in the night, or the bath, sometimes, but as he shifts away Ed’s body moves in sleep to meet him, pressing down, hips rocking, and _oh_ , that’s new.

Cheeks aflame, Oswald makes another attempt to squirm free, the effort futile with Ed’s weight pinning him down to the mattress and the vaguely embarrassing fact that every minute shift eggs Ed’s dormant body on, presses coming faster and harder against his thigh, mouth making quiet little breathy noises and Oswald is paralyzed, for a moment, by the fear that he’s about to feel, hear, _see_ Ed come for the first time, like _this_ , Ed unconscious and Oswald helpless beneath him, too abashed to wake him and too physically restrained to roll away and give the man some privacy.

He’s just about surrendered to this cruelest of fates when Ed’s hot exhales begin to take coherent shape, a malformed hum growing clearer with each reiteration: _Khnnnn, Kuhhnnn, Krrrhnn….Kristen. Kristen. Kristen._

Oswald freezes.

The flush of embarrassment painting his skin intensifies into a fluorescent prickle of fire-hot _rage_.

Summoning a strength that comes to him only in rushes of fight-or-flight adrenaline, Oswald hoists his hands up under Ed’s chest and shoves up _hard_ , not enough to push him off but enough, at least, to wake him, pathetic lustful sputters quieting as his eyes blink open and his _erection-wielding_ hips slow down.

They’re blinking at each other for a few moments, Oswald panting with anger and exertion and Ed’s eyes blurry with confusion.

Oswald snaps.

“Get _off_ of me,” he spits, hands shoving up again, harder this time.

Ed shifts off him, the dark brown of his eyes cloudy as he looks down at his lap, realization striking suddenly.

“Oh, dear _god_ , Oswald, I’m so sorry - “

With a petulant huff, Oswald grabs the blanket covering the both of them, wrapping it around himself like an oversized cloak as he stands on trembling feet.

“I’m going to go sleep in the spare bedroom,” Oswald announces, voice shaking with rage and hurt and insecurity and more _rage_.

He leaves Ed, uncovered, still _hard_ , alone on that big bed as he angrily slams the door shut behind him.

***

Breakfast the next morning is tense, to say the least.

At the table they both sit, plates untouched before him, Oswald staring determinedly down at his glass of tomato juice.

“Oswald,” Ed says finally, voice commanding.

“ _What_?”

“We should talk about what happened last night.”

“You mean you gracelessly humping my leg like a feral _dog_?”

“Oswald,” Ed protests, cheeks coloring nonetheless. “That’s not fair.”

“Is that not what happened? That’s how _I_ remember it - “

“Oswald,” Ed repeats. “I apologize, I do, but this is striking me as a bit of an overreaction.”

Oswald slumps at that, just slightly.

“Kristen,” Oswald snaps, back stiffening once more. “That’s what you moaned into my ear: _Kristen_.”

“Oh dear,” Ed sighs, adjusting his glasses with a nervous flick of the hand.

Oswald crosses his arms, truthfully aware, on some level, that he’s being _ridiculous_ , but too twisted up inside to care.

“Would it have been better if it’d been _your_ name?” Ed asks, a sincere question.

“Yes!”

 _Obviously_.

Ed nods, looking off to the side as he processes that answer.

“I’m sorry, Oswald,” Ed says after a few moments, looking back at him. “But I can’t control who I dream about.”

A difficult point to argue, but Oswald will be _damned_ if he doesn’t try.

“No, but it’s _revealing_ , isn’t it? Aren’t there entire books on the psychology of - “

“It’s hardly as if I don’t dream of _you_ in that way,” Ed interrupts.

Oswald’s sentence drowns in his throat.

“You do?”

“Of course,” Ed rubs his face, a little shy. “In sleep, even awake, sometimes, when I - ah - “

 _Oh_.

That changes things. Local and large-scale things alike.

“Sorry,” Ed continues, “I - ah. Oh dear. I feel like I’m playing an unwinnable game here.”

“You’re not,” Oswald quickly assures him. “I’m fine with you...dreaming about me.”

“Okay. Well, good. Are we - ?”

“Yes, yes,” Oswald says, taking a sip of his bloody mary. “We’re good. Sorry I ran off with the covers last night.”

“That’s alright,” Ed laughs, a surprised sound. “I clearly needed to cool down anyway.”

Oswald flushes at that.

“So I’m curious,” Ed continues, eyes sparkling. “If I hadn’t uttered Kristen’s name and spoiled the moment, would you have just let me - ?”

“Shut up,” Oswald says through clenched teeth, ears burning.

Ed laughs, teasing, and brings his foot up to Oswald’s knee beneath the table.

***

Some time later, they’re making out, Ed experimentally running a fingertip along Oswald’s bare collarbone. They’re both surprised when Oswald allows it.

Ed deepens the kiss, goosebumps prickling up on Oswald’s skin.

“Ed,” Oswald breaks the kiss to say, lips swollen. “When you...dream about me, what is it you think about doing?”

Ed licks his bottom lip, some surprise on his face.

“I’m sure you can imagine,” Ed smiles, a little deviously.

“Probably,” Oswald agrees. “But I’d like to hear you tell me.”

“Well,” Ed begins, clearing his throat, fidgeting a little nervously. “I think about...undressing you.”

“You’ve done that before,” Oswald says, recalling the time he woke up bandaged and weak in Ed’s bed with his pajamas on.

“I think about undressing you while you’re _conscious_ ,” Ed clarifies, with a good-natured pursing of his lips. “And with a far different end in mind.”

“I see,” Oswald says, heart racing. “And how do I - fantasy-me, I mean - react to this _undressing_?”

“Depends,” Ed responds, bringing a large hand to the dip of Oswald’s waist. “Sometimes you’re shy, quivering and pink-tinged all over. Other times you’re _fiery_ , back straight and staring up at me with challenge in your eyes.”

“Which do you prefer?” Oswald asks, a whisper.

“I’m not sure,” Ed admits. “Both appeal to different parts of me. I’m never certain which would be closer to reality.”

“I’m not, either,” Oswald says, leaning in to give Ed a quick peck, almost chaste.

Ed’s grip at Oswald’s waist tightens, the flicker of a smile on his mouth when Oswald pulls back from the kiss.

“Well,” Oswald continues, “Go on. I’m assuming these illicit fantasies of yours don’t end there.”

“They do sometimes,” Ed laughs, cheeks going ruddy.

Oswald blinks, dwelling on that for a moment: Ed, touching himself, or grinding into the mattress, reaching climax with only the imagined _promise_ of Oswald’s skin bared before him getting him there.

“Tell me about the times they don’t end there,” Oswald says, feeling, truthfully, _very_ bawdy, warm all over with a faint ringing in his ears like he’s doing something dangerous and his mind is trying to stop him.

“I lay you on your back,” Ed’s voice is throaty and thick. “And I run my hands up and down your skin, from the tips of your shoulders down to your ankles.”

“That sounds nice,” Oswald sighs, hand bunching tight in the fabric of his pants where they’re looser at the knee.

“Then I do it again, with my lips this time,” Ed murmurs, “And my tongue.”

Oswald’s breath stutters at that. He brings a hand to Ed’s knee now, squeezing down.

“I touch you then,” Ed continues, “Your - ah - sorry, is this going too far?”

“No,” Oswald gulps. “Tell me about my _ah_.”

Ed laughs, face scarlet, then composes himself, pulling Oswald closer until their foreheads are touching.

“I touch you, there, until you’re erect in my hand.”

“Erect?” Oswald can’t help but giggle.

“Hard? Sorry. This is my first stab at dirty talk.”

“You’re doing marvelously,” Oswald smiles, nuzzling his forehead against him. “Continue.”

“I flip you onto your stomach, a pillow beneath your hips.”

Oswald squeezes his knee tighter, blood rushing hot.

“I kiss my way down from the nape of your neck down your spine.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Oswald breathes.

“Then I kiss even lower than that,” Ed’s voice is low, scorching. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I don’t. Keep going.”

“I run my open mouth over the rise of your backside,” Ed breathes, hard, voice catching. “Then I spread it. I kiss the insides, my tongue down the length of the split.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Oswald exhales, lower body pulsing.

Ed looks at him, wide-eyed, like he’s sure he’s crossed a line and will pay for it, but Oswald only moans “ _more_.”

“I focus at the center, your - ah. Your hole loosening beneath my tongue.”

“Wow,” Oswald grunts, eyes like saucers. He’s no blushing innocent, but it had somehow never occurred to him that _that_ was doable.

“You cry out,” Ed continues, words strung quickly together. “You tell me how good it feels. I keep licking till you’re soaked and choking on your sobs.”

Whimpering, Oswald kisses him at that, Ed responding hungrily, tongue aggressive somehow, and Oswald wonders how the hot thrust of it really _would_ feel elsewhere.

“I pull away,” Ed says, as he does just that from Oswald’s mouth, “I lube my fingers up and I slide them inside you, one at a time, until you’re full. Relaxed. Ready for me.”

Oswald closes his eyes, breathing “oh _yes_ ” as if he was really there and _that_ was really happening.

“I pull my dick out,” Ed says, face hitting a shade of red so deep Oswald wonders if Ed’s flesh hasn’t just created a new, unarchived color.

“Good,” Oswald mumbles, blurry, without thinking, then: “Do you want to do that now? Here?”

“Can I?” Ed asks, mouth falling open.

“Yes,” Oswald answers, eyes misty and chest _full_. “I want you to touch yourself.”

Oswald keeps his eyes closed. He listens to the metallic scrape of Ed’s pants unzipping, and feels Ed move to pull himself out. A smell, like copper and earth, somehow, fills his nostrils.

Ed groans, and Oswald can hear the friction of skin against skin. Curious, he opens his eyes, dropping them to Ed’s lap. And there it is: the tangle of dark pubic hair, the shapely jut of Ed’s cock, pink-brown and wrapped by Ed’s stroking hand.

Oswald’s eyes flick back up to his face. It is, in full truth, the more electrifying sight, Ed’s eyes wrinkled shut, his lips wet and slack, skin darkened, beads of sweat forming on his high forehead as his hand moves frantically below.

Ed is breathing hard, face tilted downward, looking fully absorbed in whatever images his mind is continuing to conjure up. They’re of him, of course, Oswald knows, but insecurity gets the better of him nonetheless so he grips his face with two hands just to be sure, just to remind Ed who he’s here with, and Ed moans: “ _Oswald_.”

Oswald can’t imagine _anything_ , anything in the world of sex or drink or luxury, feeling better than _this_ , this right here: Ed, touching himself, skin hot and sweat-slick beneath Oswald’s hands, whimpering with abandon and exhaling his name like a prayer, a litany, a summoning: _Oswald, Oswald_.

“Keep telling me what you’d do to me,” Oswald whispers, breathy, drawn-out, emphasizing the quiet whistles between his teeth and the pop of his lips around the words.

“Oh - oh god - “ Ed gasps, rocking his head as though to steady himself. “I’d - I’d fuck you, slow at first, careful, then faster, harder - “

“Tell me how I react.”

“You love it. You’re shy at first, body clenched, but then you bear down, let - let me in. You take it so well - “

“I do?” Oswald’s smiling, absurdly, at this praise for his imagined fantasy-self.

“Yes. I tell you that, there, too - how good you’re taking it. How good you are.”

Oswald is hard, burning, the feelings far away, sensation sharp but disconnected, less real to him than Ed’s trembling head in his hands, his voice in his ear, this fantasy world breathed aloud in vivid color.

“Oh, Ed,” is all Oswald can think to say to convey all this, the far-off thrum of his body and the pleased paroxysms in his head, eyes wet because Ed thinks him alluring, Ed thinks him _good_ -

“Oswald, I’m - I’m - “

Ed comes, mouth a howling O, vein in his forehead bulging, shattered sob-like noises and the smell of something like chlorine in the air.

Oswald feels it all vicariously, heartbeat like a drum and a moan in his throat, holding Ed as he spasms, spits, then slows, mouth relaxing, limbs growing pliant.

By the time Ed’s breathing has slowed and he pulls Oswald in by the neck for a kiss, Oswald has softened in his pants, heart beating none the slower for it, a blissed-out bubble floating dreamily in his head.

“Was that - are you - okay?” Ed asks, eyes open, murky with worry.

“Mmhmm,” Oswald smiles. “Better than okay.”

“I’m feeling much the same,” Ed laughs. “Though that probably goes without saying.”

“Indeed.”

“Thank you, Oswald,” Ed says after some contented silence, tone sincere. “For letting me have that. I know it’s nothing we’ll ever actually do, but just getting to voice it - “

“Well,” Oswald interrupts, a play-devilish smile on his face. “Never say never.”

“Really?”

“Let’s wait and see how these _puzzle pieces_ of mine you’re so fond of shift from here,” the sentence is light, playful, even, but undergirded with sincerity.

Who knows, after all, what Oswald will want a year from now. Or five. Or ten.

“I’ll be fine if they don’t shift in that direction,” Ed smiles, “Just for the record.”

“I know,” Oswald says, and he _does_ , now more than ever, oddly.

Looking down, blushing faintly, Oswald pulls the band of Ed’s briefs back up his hips, then zips his pants fastened.

The mess, Oswald decides, can be dealt with later. He shifts his weight to the side, leaning down against Ed, head pressed to his chest.

Ed wraps an arm around him, instinctual.

Oswald hums against his chest, a melody he can’t quite recognize. He grins, eyes welling, when Ed’s voice joins him, low and full.

Oswald clasps their hands together, feeling, if just for a moment, utterly complete.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Laura Marling's "Rest in the Bed."


End file.
